


reflected in prismed moonlight

by vwritesaus



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Brief mentions of other characters - Freeform, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Lots of laughing, M/M, Memories, Post-Time Skip, Reminiscing, because there needs to be more happy/silly akaashi in our lives, fukuroudani shenanigans, i love this team so much, i still don't know how to tag uhhhh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 01:22:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23886655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vwritesaus/pseuds/vwritesaus
Summary: It’s been a good night. For the past four hours, the apartment and this balcony, five levels up, had been filled with chatter and laughter, stories of high school, and cheers and promises to catch up again soon.It was nice to see some things hadn’t changed.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou
Comments: 15
Kudos: 48





	reflected in prismed moonlight

**Author's Note:**

> five fics into my ao3 and i haven't posted a fic of my favourite ship ever until now? disgraceful  
>  ~~probably because all my fics for them in my wip folder are multichaptered/10k+ lol. i love them a lot, ok~~  
>  please accept my (late) offering to the bokuaka community
> 
> not sure about the title but that's all this poor brain can come up with right now

Three empty bottles of sake sit on the balcony table amongst five, equally empty glasses. Prismed moonlight splays through the glassware, across the laminated surface and the backs of five wicker chairs. The streets below are empty, cars parked in straight lines along the kerb and shop front windows arranged in a blacked-out and spotlighted pattern: an alcove of silence in the busiest, perhaps liveliest city in the world.

The air is stagnant and warm, tinged with a promise of a crisp change in the next hour, and the sky clear and painted with shimmering stars around a high moon. It’s the perfect night to submit to the serenity and contemplate without any qualms or nuisance work things that needed to be done for Monday. Akaashi finds himself doing just that, sinking into one of the wicker chairs instead of tidying up the bottles and glasses, eyes drinking in the high-rises across the road and the sparkling city centre upon the horizon.

It’s been a good night. For the past four hours, the apartment and this balcony, five levels up, had been filled with chatter and laughter, stories of high school, and cheers and promises to catch up again soon. Konoha and Yukie had arrived arm-in-arm around six o’clock, sporting matching menacing grins that Akaashi knew from the get-go would make him and Bokuto targets of their incessant teasing. Komi had come about ten minutes later, laden with bags of promised chef’s specials from the restaurant he worked at and wagashi from the sweet shop two minutes down from it. Bokuto’s key had clicked in the lock not long after that, announcing himself with a crow of _I’m home!_ and the three sake bottles tucked into his elbow.

They had helped Akaashi set the table in the kitchen, even though he had _almost_ been done, but Konoha insisted he set up the chopsticks and glasses and Yukie wanted to hurry up the process by arranging the bowls so she could _dig in as soon as possible because Komi-kun’s cooking smells amazing and I’m starving_. Bokuto had been too busy unpacking the sake and food with Komi to come to Akaashi’s aid so he had given in rather quickly. It hadn’t taken them long to settle down and start eating; Akaashi smiles at the recollection of Yukie’s delighted expression upon her first bite of katsudon. It was nice to see some things hadn’t changed.

Metal rattling grabs Akaashi’s attention as the door behind him slides open. Next second there are a pair of hands rubbing along his shoulders, firm and soothing, and a soft mouth drops a kiss on the top of his head. Akaashi hums and is about to succumb to the touch when it leaves him, Bokuto choosing to weave between the chairs and reach for the glasses and bottles. He grabs Bokuto’s wrist before he can pick up the glassware, sliding his fingers over the slightly damp skin of his palm and snugly fitting their fingers together. In his mind he’s saying _the rest of the washing up can wait_ and he knows Bokuto understands his wordless plea as a smile crawls onto his face. Bokuto lowers himself into the chair next to his with a tired groan, breaking their handhold in favour of draping his arm over the back of Akaashi’s chair, the tips of his fingers brushing against the point of his shoulder; Akaashi doesn’t hesitate to nudge his chair closer to Bokuto’s, allowing himself to snuggle into Bokuto’s warm body as much as he can. He lets out a content sigh when Bokuto brings him in closer and knocks their feet together.

Akaashi’s voice is a borderline whisper as he asks, ‘You have fun tonight?’

‘Yeah, I did!’ Bokuto replies in a volume that nearly matches Akaashi’s. ‘Had a great time. How about you?’

Humming in affirmation, Akaashi adds, ‘It was nice seeing everyone again.’

‘Yeah… too bad the others couldn’t make it,’ Bokuto mutters sullenly. ‘I know they’re busy with work and stuff but… would’ve been nice to see ‘em.’

‘It would have,’ Akaashi agrees, ‘but at the same time, I don’t think our apartment can accommodate our entire high school volleyball team.’

Bokuto laughs and Akaashi feels a smile tug at the corners of his lips at the sound.

‘That’s true,’ he says, ‘but still, I haven’t seen Tatsu and Yama and Kaori in _ages_ , and Shuu-chan and Wata-chan had to go and do awesome stuff overseas and who knows when they’re gonna come back? I miss ‘em, Keiji.’

Akaashi’s _I miss them too_ comes out as a gentle squeeze at Bokuto’s knee.

After high school—or rather, after Akaashi’s third year senpais had graduated—everyone had gone off in different directions: Washio and Bokuto went off and tried out for local professional volleyball teams; Sarukui, Yukie, Kaori and Konoha started their university degrees; and Komi dove straight into his apprenticeship at a nearby izakaya as a kitchenhand. Despite their diverging paths, all of them (be it all at once or in twos and threes) had visited Fukuroudani at different points during Akaashi’s third year, so much so it was like they never left. They sat during training sessions, watching Akaashi bring out the best of his kouhais as both a setter and captain. Their presence had been comforting, Akaashi can admit that even now.

But that comfortable presence, the pride they had exuded in the stands at the Spring Tournament (because yes, _of course we came to watch you and the rest of the team, why wouldn’t we?_ ), the pointers from the sidelines and the cheers of joy at each new point they scored was what made their abrupt loss a few rounds into Nationals unbearably painful.

It had been excruciating to look down at his captain’s jersey, its meaning withering away before his very eyes. Looking at his kouhai’s disappointed, exhausted, saddened expressions as they lined up before their cheer squad in the stands had been knives in his chest with every step he took away from their—and _his_ —last game. He hadn’t been able to meet any of his senpais’ eyes when he thanked their section of the stands for their support, bowing as low as he could. The applause had been deafening, undeserved because they had _lost_. Akaashi hadn’t been able to see or think clearly as they left the stadium, heading towards the change rooms to switch uniforms and pack up. Along the way, he had heard variations of his name from familiar voices, treasured voices— _Akaashi-senpai_ , _Akaashi-san, Akaashi_ —but nothing had made him stutter in his step and his brain trickle into ringing silence more than a clear and confident shout of _Keiji!_

When he had managed to focus his gaze on the owner of the voice—and who else could it possibly be other than Bokuto-san?—Akaashi had expected intense eyes that flashed gold, or a sad smile and open arms, or even Bokuto with the whole gang, determined to give him a good talking to about they had played fair and square and well. He had been presented with none of that: Bokuto had been alone and he glowed not with determination or sympathy but with such overwhelming _pride_ that Akaashi had felt the last of his resolve crumble into pieces. It had well and truly shattered when the rest of them filed through the open doors, Konoha yelling out _oi, thanks for waiting, dickhead_ , resulting in Bokuto squawking in offence _I’m not a dickhead!_ Kaori and Washio had calming smiles while Sarukui and Komi decided to join Konoha in berating Bokuto for abandoning them; Yukie had laughed at Bokuto when he cried out for her to help him— _Yukippe, please! They’re so mean!_ —the sound the loudest out of everything, drowning out the whistles and shouting of a new match taking place on the court.

Even though Akaashi had broken down in front of them for the second time (scaring his kouhai in the process because not once had he shown weakness in front of them that past year save for Onaga and Anahori) he had been smiling. Yes, they had lost. Yes, it had been Akaashi’s last game. And yes, it had royally _sucked_ , but if Akaashi had learned anything that day was that the bond that existed between him and both his former and current teammates wasn’t just something that appeared in their best moments. It burned brightly in the darkest spaces: an eternal flame that time would not extinguish. It was a special tie that kept them together even when apart, the kind that existed between Hinata and Kageyama, Kuroo and Kenma, and (perhaps in a roundabout way) the Miya brothers.

And when Komi demanded Akaashi and the team find them in the barbecue place down the road, that lunch is on them, Akaashi had realised something else. He and Bokuto had something more between them, and the way he had cried out Akaashi’s given name like it was second nature had made his heart race. Irrationality had been a big factor, kindled with a desperate kind of hope, in Akaashi claiming his only victory on the outskirts of the hallway, shadowed in a private nook.

(Bokuto’s hands had been gentle in wiping his tears away, expression bright and fond, but Akaashi had been fierce in closing the gap, consecutive expression one of horror and tongue heavy with an apology. It, however, never saw the world beyond his lips, not when Bokuto’s own had stretched in a delighted, tearful grin.)

So Akaashi misses them more than he can admit out loud, because when they’re all as close as this, it’s hard _not_ to miss each other when they’re apart. But there is not much he can do when Sarukui has a night shift he can’t badger his way out of; when Kaori has night classes on the other side of Tokyo; when Washio’s new team favour long and gruelling training sessions on a Friday night; and when Onaga and Anahori are exploring Europe and Australia, blowing up their senpais’ phones with new landmarks and delicious treats at any given opportunity.

What he tells Bokuto is, ‘We’ll see them eventually. We can organise something in the future so that everyone can attend.’

‘That’s a good idea, Keiji,’ Bokuto says pensively. ‘Hey, we can invite Coach Yamaji, too!’

Craning his neck to gaze into Bokuto’s face, Akaashi’s mouth forms into a half grin. It’s enough of a response for Bokuto’s eyes light up and his smile is so big Akaashi cannot resist kissing it with his own. The taste of sake lingers and Bokuto pulls away with a low sound after a moment, massaging the space between his eyebrows.

‘Fuck, remind me never to challenge Yukippe again,’ he grumbles and Akaashi can’t stop the laugh that bursts out of him.

‘Shirofuku-san can drink us all under the table if she wanted to. I just hope she managed to get Konoha-san home,’ Akaashi muses. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if he knocked into every person on the street _and_ missed his stop.’

(Konoha was _not_ a great drinker, and three glasses of sake in, he was already red-faced and misty-eyed as he reminisced about high school. Komi had been in tears trying not to laugh, and both Bokuto and Akaashi had simply nodded along, providing fuel for the fire by bringing up completely random and unrelated memories just to see what reactions they could elicit. Yukie had been beside herself, choking on her drink multiple times when Konoha would let out a wail.)

‘Serves ‘im right!’ Bokuto exclaims, but there’s amusement in his tone. ‘Yukippe’s kinda responsible though… she’ll get him home. She kept us in line and all, didn’t she?’

‘She did.’ Akaashi looks out over the balcony railing, just in time to see a pair of birds flying amongst the inky sky. He doesn’t know why it causes him to remember a certain high school moment, but he aims at Bokuto, ‘Remember that summer training camp? The year Karasuno joined us? When she burst into our room to tell us off for waking her up in the middle of the night because we were too busy playing cards?’

‘Oh yeah, I forgot about that!’ Bokuto laughs and smacks a hand against his chest. ‘She scared Kuroo so bad—remember his scream?—and he was in the other room and everything!’

‘And then Hinata-kun and Kageyama-kun wanted to join in, but Sawamura-san told them off too. Their faces, I’ll never forget—’

‘—they were so scared, oh _nooo_ , too funny—oh, and remember when we were playing charades—Tatsu’s impersonation of a puppy? I _died_ —’

‘“I’m a small version of a big cute thing. _Wan-wan_.”’

They dissolve into loud cackles, clutching onto each other as they go back and forth with _remember this?_ Akaashi’s stomach aches from how hard he’s laughing, but he’s drunk on mirth and nostalgia (and maybe a bit of the sake) to care. Never mind that their laughs echo in the silent streets (he’ll apologise to the neighbours when he sees them, but not right now) and never mind that it’s nearing eleven, Akaashi is happy. It’s the happiest time of his twenty-two years and yes, he can afford to be silly now, because he’s alone with his best friend and love of his life and who needs masks around someone like that?

It takes them a good few moments to calm down, giggling every time they heave in deep breaths because the sound is just too funny.

‘Oh _man_ —we sure had fun, didn’t we?’ Bokuto muses, wiping away a few stray tears from his eyes. ‘What a time.’

‘Indeed.’ Removing himself from Bokuto and standing up slowly, Akaashi turns to face him and holds out his hand for him to take. ‘But I reckon we’re having a great time now, aren’t we?’

His face hurts from all the laughter, but it doesn’t wipe the smile he has when Bokuto grabs his hand and stands up too, immediately wrapping an arm around Akaashi’s waist.

‘Hell yeah we are,’ he says, a ferocious grin gracing his mouth. He leans in to Akaashi’s ear and whispers in it, ‘Last one to the couch has to make breakfast in the morning.’

Gasping when Bokuto moves away, Akaashi pulls his shirt and his eyes catch the glint of silver for a split second on his hand before he squeezes past Bokuto’s body and into the apartment. Bokuto screeches in mock offence and runs after him. They fall into a heap on their couch— _fiiiiiine, I’ll make breakfast tomorrow, even though you cheated!_ —and Akaashi seals their lips together.

(Three empty sake bottles and five empty glasses sit on the balcony table, splaying prismed moonlight through the door and into the apartment, highlighting fingers lined with silver, stark against a broad chest and dark hair.)

**Author's Note:**

> scream bokuaka with me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/vwritesaus) or [tumblr](https://vwritesaus.tumblr.com)


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